Rare Venom : Dresden Files XII
by Krov
Summary: A beginning where Harry is forced by circumstances to stray away from the "White Knight" path that was laid out before him by J. Butcher.  Harry may not have to fight for his daughter this time ... But to stay alive, he will need all the power he can get.


_(Author's Note : I'm aware that canon compliance may be nonexistent, that there is no plot, really, but this is more of a writing essay than anything else. English being my third language, I wanted to try and narrate something just to improve my skills. If you can spare the time, rate it on a scale from one to ten, one being a teenage girl who can't get enough of slash, while ten would signify that this blurb does not seem to present a significant risk of eye cancer. Thank you. I wish I could evaluate my writing skills myself, but I must count on your benevolence on this. Also I wasn't exactly confident about imitating Butcher's writing style, which is why many thoughts of Dresden may sound "over-premeditated" somehow. It may feel too written... it was the best I could do at any rate...)_

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_Short stories (Fantasy anthology entries) are ignored._

_Set between __Turn Coat_ and _Changes._  


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**_Chapter 1._**

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There I was: a few yards away from Château Raith. Amid a sleepy forest, and likewise peaceful surroundings, the magnificent Raith household stood proud. A splendid sight to behold. The outer signs of age one would expect from a building of classical architecture were nowhere to be seen. It was in pristine condition, and strangely so. As a wizard, I had seen many things out of the ordinary, which I was quick to dismiss. Yet, the feeling of wrongness that emanated from Château Raith just wouldn't go away. Too perfect. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something squeaked me the wrong way about the place. The building's very appearance, untouched by time, was strange enough in itself, and could easily be explained by the vast resources, material or otherwise of those who inhabited the vast manor, but it didn't warrant triggering my instincts of wariness like this.

Something escaped me. But then again, this was nothing new.

After a quick glance at the darker corners of the manor's gardens, where all monsters were somehow bound by an unspoken code of professional ethics to lurk in, I decided against going back on my tracks. After all, I had enough trouble going through the guards in the first place. I don't know how bad guys manage to find men like those in such numbers. In more ways than one, they are the closest thing you'll find from a walking corpse: try as I might, I couldn't get the slightest reaction from them. I mean, they were even unruffled by my wiseass remarks.

It just doesn't happen to me. And when they do react, it's usually in the middle of a really good joke.

Ruining those on purpose requires a twisted state of mind. Or no state of mind at all.

At least, I managed to keep my blasting rod at hand, although I didn't know how to feel about that. Either they thought I was no real threat, in which case I was torn between feeling insulted and gloating at the incoming possibilities of such an overlook, or I had somehow become lucky overnight.

The latter was the worst, no doubt about it. I've nearly been sold on eBay by an insane vampire, keep being beaten to a pulp on a weekly basis. Can't keep a steady girlfriend, either.

Which means that getting lucky sounds too farfetched. It must be that something so bad will happen to me that the Almighty took pity on me and decided to give things a nudge in my way, so that I don't complain too much. And it terrified me.

Must be his idea of a good joke. One of the benefits of being the most powerful being in Creation must be a never-ending supply of mean, cruel pranks to play on random wizards working as investigators in Chicago in order to pay bills that in the end could never be dealt with efficiently in the first place. I mean, that God dude really doesn't like me. I've actually been forced to come here because the situation kept getting worse. Self-generated screw-ups coming from nowhere that just didn't get the hint and stop.

Visiting Lara Raith wasn't something one would chose to do, if given the choice. As it were, she was the less dangerous of the hordes of beautiful, intelligent, flirtatious women that had offered me power. Not hordes really, but Lasciel and Mab were terrifying enough, and no amount of adjectives could accurately translate the implications of what an alliance with either of them would mean for my own very mortal ass. All three of them are smarter than me, but killing the last two wasn't even an option. Lasciel is as immortal as you can get. No one –meaning wizards a lot more competent than me, and pretty much everyone in the mortal world - had ever managed to destroy a Blackened Denarius. Even if I did manage that by accident, an unleashed Lasciel would wipe the floor with my incompetent self before I would even realize what had happened. Concerning Mab, the sheer magnitude of coldness her actions commanded was a formidable thing to see. She'd have no qualms using everything she could lay her beautiful manicured hands on. This ranged from the whole power of Winter to the absurd quantities of debts and contacts she could invoke. Her wits alone frightened me beyond belief. If she could speak to Uriel as an equal, that means she's clearly too dangerous for me to deal with for the next millennia or so…

This brings me to my best hope in all this mess. Lara. I tried to remember that, as Bob so gracefully put it, "Not all "last hopes" have boobs, Harry, you ought to cherish the occasion", but that was a very slight and shallow comfort, compared with the danger she represented. Although she didn't operate in the same league as Faerie Queens or Fallen Angels, she was fearsome in her own right. Lara had grown into a power to be reckoned with. Ever since Lord Raith, the White Court's official ruler, had had his inadequacies exposed to his daughter, he's become the very much unwilling puppet of Lara, who couldn't just yet take his mantle in the open.

I didn't have to knock. The doors opened when I was a mere feet away from the doorknob. Probably meant to intimidate visitors. Too bad three nights spent awake trying to find a way around my predicament left me too tired to even bother about it. I yawned as loud as I could, just to further emphasize my point. I've probably guessed right. The slightest hint of a scowl which adorned the face of the tall, bald man who opened the door for me showed he clearly wasn't amused by my insolent display. As I half-expected him to, he didn't wait for me to say a word before turning on his heels, and, with a subtle nod, urged me to follow him through the manor.

The view was impressive, to say the least. There was so much expensive, classy furniture… More than I would be able to count at any rate. There was also enough space to give me a faint sense of uneasiness. I blinked several times to wash away the feeling, while the butler made his way through the myriads of complexities Château Raith withheld within its walls. I'd be willing to bet both my hands that whoever designed the place wasn't sober when he did it. Daedalus, wherever he is now, must have suffered from one hell of an inferiority complex. It took the very word of labyrinth to new heights. Every time you came to a corner, at least half a dozen new ways showed themselves.

Now I knew why Ebenezar said he tried and failed to kill Raith : he must have gotten lost, and gave up. The mere thought of attempting to find your way through this maze was a depressing one.

A daunting prospect.

The butler apparently didn't think so, because he didn't so much as hesitate once, ever since my descent began. Yeah, one thing I could tell is that I was a good hundred feet below the ground, at least. Many maids made themselves known during the trip. In each corridor you could at least see a handful employees doing one thing or another: mostly cleaning, as Château Raith had a great many things that required extensive care. Some of the furniture I saw was probably older than the late Wizard Lafortier, which, judging from his appearance, was saying something. I had begun at some point to rely on my blasting rod as a walking stick.

My limbs didn't really suffer from walk, but the whole thing bored the hell out of me. It looked like we were still in the same corridor: they all resembled each other. I thought for a moment that it was exactly that: the guy was making me walk in circles for the last thirty minutes. I dismissed the thought instantly: evil forces had some kind of honor code. You just didn't make someone run in circles for over half an hour. It just isn't done.

The powers above must have felt my despair: just when I was opening my mouth to utter a typical wiseass comment he stopped dead in his tracks. I nearly bumped into him from the abruptness of it. I started to say something, but snapped my jaw shut an instant later. The butler hadn't moved an inch, but somehow his body gestured towards a door just opposite us. No words were exchanged. No body language, either, but I knew it was there. It must be a guy thing.

I thanked him in my head, and, apparently he got the message, because just as I moved to the door, he departed swiftly. Without looking back. This time around, I did manage to reach the doorknob. I took the time to take a deep breath though, before going through the door. A wise man, which I was trying to be, reached his decision far before this point. Even though I'm known as a spontaneous kind of guy, I like a plan every now and then. It helps keep some things to yourself, unimportant stuff like your life, those of everyone you ever cared for, and all of your material possessions. I liked a plan, but not _this_ plan. I've been forced into choosing it by lack of options. It was this, or either becoming a psychotic Denarian host or the Winter Court's lapdog. I guess Marcone was right.

Nothing worth doing is ever easy.

I didn't have to bend my head to go through the open door. I closed the door behind me, and took in the sight my eyes were graciously offered. An elaborate bedroom, lit with the kind of chandeliers you could find in Versailles. My eyes however, feasted on what stood in the middle of the room. A woman whose beauty must have driven others mad with envy.

And it has. Even Luccio looked snappy when looking at her.

Vampires, even females were tall. Lara Raith, staring at me from across the room with a calculating eye, upon which rested a delicate eyebrow, wasn't really smaller than me. And this was without those damned high heels of hers enhancing the curves of her hips, coercing my lower anatomy in doing things that made my trousers more than a little uncomfortable.

"Well…" she drawled. I didn't need to try and see past her carefully blank face to know she was surprised. There was absolutely no way she knew I was coming here since minutes ago, when I asked the guards at the entry, with my very own Big Stick Policy, to see Lara Raith.

Surprise was the one thing I was hell bent on keeping on my side. She's been manipulating and scheming far before I was born, and it seemed like a bad idea to try and beat her at her own game. Without cheating.

"I certainly didn't expect you to come here" She finished and pursed her lips. _What they don't say is often more important than what they do say_, was the only piece of advice my old mentor, Justin Du Morne, had ever given me about the sidhe. It must apply to all kinds of manipulative immortal bitches of unearthly beauty, though, so I might as well apply it to Lara. It was a damn good piece of advice, too. She probably expected to glean whatever information she needed to control the situation, hence her beckoning me to talk.

"Do you remember what you told me two years ago, just before you tried to feed on me ?"

At her slight nod, I pressed on: "An alliance between the two of us, you said. You'll have to forgive me for the Listerine comment back then; I wasn't really in my most forgiving mood". Not the slightest bit of reaction. Damn, this was going to be harder than I thought. Might as well appear weak, that'll bring her out of her statuesque demeanor: " Well, I thought that maybe the… the right time has come for us to kind of… make that sort of agreement. I guess" I made a couple of awkward hand gestures to seal the deal. I looked really lame. But it was planned at least.

The ghost of a smile touched her lips. From what I knew of her, I could tell that she deduced the implications, and potential political gains she could have from my offer. Her eager look vanished so quickly I wasn't sure I really saw it. Damn those vampire reflexes and ungodly speed for also affecting facial expression and muscles. "Reading" her was never the slightest bit easy. Then, her half lazy, half flirtatious look the seemed to favor around me was quickly replaced by an expression of honest surprise. Looks like the key word in _Porn actress_ wasn't the first one, after all.

"I do not wish to dissuade you from what I see as a very beneficial agreement for both of us. But really Dresden, I'd be lying if I said this was anywhere close to what I expected when I heard that you bullied two of my men to let you in…"

"So," and this time her inquisitive expression drew me in. As cliché as it sounds, her eyes just wouldn't let me look away from her. Such beauty in those silver orbs of hers. "This must mean that something happened, didn't it".

I felt myself nod in agreement in spite of myself. Wrenching myself of thoughts involving Lara, me, a pool of torn clothes and the king size bed just behind her slender figure, I sighed inwardly.

Sometimes, you just can't win.

No matter how much I try not to look at them, nearly every impossibly tough deadly creature I've come across so far have been females of improbable beauty. Although I try not to think about it too much, a small part of me thinks that the only reason Nicodemus died was because he lacked breasts. Wouldn't have worked with Mab: her cleavage, heaving dramatically with the intensive breathing the situation required would have distracted me during the strangulation. I then contemplated the idea of asking Butters to cut off my phallic appendage once for all. Few things could make him do it. But if I somehow brought Polka's founders back from the dead with the remnants of what I still knew of Kemmler's book, it might just work…

Lara interrupted me from that particularly gruesome yet interesting train of thought. "Wizard?" Hadn't I known better, I'd had thought her worried.

"Don't think I'm going to give you information for free. You'll have to agree to the bargain first. Then you and I will give each other all the information we need."

I waited for her to protest, but her silence told me to continue. "An alliance between us would mostly consist of working together towards common goals, which we will establish afterwards. No telling people about it either unnecessarily. I don't really need the White Council breathing down my neck. Morgan may be dead, but I'm sure you know, and might still hope the Merlin takes a shot at me. By the way, many people would be pissed if you took a cheap shot at me. Maeve wants to kill me herself. Titania has a certain daughter to avenge, personally. And I strongly suspect my godmother of wanting to reprogram me into a lapdog". Yeah, I always look at the bright side of life, even when aforementioned life is just a giant clusterfuck.

But Lara knew all of that, of course. She wouldn't have forgotten it. Yet, it doesn't mean she liked being reminded about her lack of options: it still stung.

A businesswoman like her hardly likes being forced in a position or another. Having to play along with my demands kind of fits those criteria. She's only moderately pissed, though. She's a got a lot to win with our bargain. Both reasons tell me she can't refuse. Still, I'd like to hear it out loud, from her own lovely mouth.

No words were spoken for a few moments. Most likely, Lara was considering any potential loopholes an agreement would entail. A few years ago, she wouldn't have thought me as threatening enough to warrant such an extensive thinking through of the deal. I must be getting better. Let that be a good sign. Her face was adorably scrunched up in concentration, making her look harmless, a finger tapping lightly over her lower lip. Then, she spoke.

"Yes. That might just work, wizard mine. An alliance between the two of us. I daresay common goals will be the easiest part, Hmmm?" She prodded. Her look turned hungry, as if anticipating a glorious meal.

I'm still having trouble admitting anyone could find me that tasty. But I guess that's the whole thing about her vampiric charm, and why it never fails to captivate men. My jaws were wide open, although I didn't remember when I opened my mouth. I snapped them shut, just as Lara continued to speak, as if she didn't notice the effect she had on me. Crafty bitch.

"I can't find any reason you might have for betraying me, Warden Dresden. But I'm not stupid enough to think of you as wholly innocent. I think you remember what happened in the island you dubbed 'Demonreach', Hmmm ?". Screw those rhetorical questions... Her regal demeanor stirred within me a powerful urge to apologize profusely and swearing it would not happen again. I kept my mouth firmly in place, making for a comical view. Looked like I was constipated. Lara apparently hadn't thought she would have resolved the problem that easily. She was quick to make an offer.

"This is why I'm going for some kind of 'insurance policy', if you will." Accompanying her voice, a pale, beautiful hand gestured towards the bed, which, being placed in the very middle of the room, was hard to ignore. Just when I thought of asking to detail a little more what she had in mind, it suddenly hit me. Manipulative bitch. It was no great secret that a man such as I had a great deal more difficulty in dealing with women they were involved with, much less those they had sex with. Cold, Brutal, Effective killing machines like Kincaid or Nicodemus couldn't care less, I suppose, but I'm still stuck with a lingering sense of chivalry what just couldn't go away. I suppose it was presumptuous of me to assume I'd be able to put Lara knee-deep in trouble without getting any back in return.

Just when I was attemtping to buy a few seconds with a sarcastic comment, genetics hit me back with a vengeance.

I was arguing_ against _sex. I might as well just turn over my man card here and there. I'd felt stupid enough when I refused Maeve, and it involved siring a changeling who could potentially kill me one day, or worse. What Lara had in mind was a no string attached kind of thing.

And then : powers mightier than common sense – hormones - crushed whatever reticence I had left. I supposed I could bargain away my fertility for a few years with a sidhe afterwards. I just had to trust the powers above not to impregnate her right away.

I already had Molly to deal with.

In retrospect, I had resisted before. I've argued against sex before, enough to make Bob cry, which is quite a feat if you consider that he has no lachrymal glands, or even a physical body to begin with. But this was endgame, as old Nick so gracefully put it.

I only had the illusion of a choice.

When I'd stopped thinking and nodded my assent, Lara was already close enough to me that I could feel her hot breath on my neck. I inhaled her perfume, and soon after, was quite incapable of coherent thought. The fact that she had somehow managed to shed all her clothes as well wasn't a big help either. My rational, scheming self kindly retreated in the back of my mind and let me do what I was obligated as a man to do. There was a time for everything I supposed.

Just as Lara drove me wild with desire, the last thought I was able to form was that I might as well enjoy it.

I was going to be in deep shit soon enough afterwards, no matter what.


End file.
